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Synopsis
The Guardians of Eternity are facing a final battle to save their world — but battles of the heart may be the most difficult to fight....
Cyn, the vampire clan chief of Ireland, is an unabashed hedonist whose beauty is surpassed only by his insatiable appetite for pleasure. It's no wonder he's furious when he's transported from the magical land of the pure-blooded feys to his desolate medieval castle — only to have his very existence thrown into a chaos that even he cannot charm his way out of.
Most women may be all but powerless against Cyn, but Fallon, a sharp-witted fairy princess, is less than beguiled by the silver-tongued vampire. She's a serious soul with no time for the sort of games he plays — especially when they learn that someone is trying to close the veil that separates the dimensions. But seduction may prove the most powerful force of all, as attraction ignites between the unlikely pair even as worlds are colliding around them...
Contains mature themes.
Release date: May 26, 2015
Publisher: Zebra Books
Print pages: 352
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When Darkness Ends
Alexandra Ivy
Ireland, present day
Cyn, clan chief of Ireland and former berserker, moaned as he slowly regained consciousness. His brain was fuzzy, which meant it took a full minute to realize he was lying butt-naked on the cold stone floor of a cave.
Bloody hell. It had been a millennium since he’d woken in this precise cave, naked and disoriented. He didn’t like it any better today than he had a thousand years ago.
What’d happened?
With a groan he forced himself to a sitting position, his body hardening at the intoxicating scent that teased at his nose.
Champagne?
A fine, crisp vintage that made his entire body tingle with anticipation.
For a blissful minute he allowed the fragrance to swirl around him. It was oddly familiar. And, surprisingly, it stirred a complex mixture of emotions.
Arousal. Wariness. Frustration
It was the frustration that abruptly forced him to recall why the scent was so familiar.
Muttering a curse, Cyn had a searing memory of following a beautiful fairy through a portal. No . . . not a fairy, he wryly corrected himself. A Chatri. The ancient purebloods of the fey world who’d retreated to their homeland centuries before.
He’d been there to help Roke locate his mate, but Princess Fallon had shoved him out of the throne room when it was obvious that Roke and Sally needed time to work out their differences, insisting that he leave them in peace.
He’d only been vaguely annoyed at first. He didn’t trust the cunning Chatri as far as he could throw them, especially not their king, Sariel. But he wanted Roke to work out his troubles with his mate.
Besides, he was male enough to appreciate being in the company of a beautiful woman.
Or in the case of Fallon . . . a breathtakingly exquisite woman.
Her hair was a glorious tumble of rich gold brushed with hints of pale rose. The sort of hair that begged a man to bury his face in the silken mass. Her eyes were polished amber with flecks of emerald and framed by the thickest, longest lashes Cyn had ever seen. And her ivory features . . . gods almighty, they were so perfect they didn’t look real.
He might be suspicious of Fallon, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy fantasizing about having her tossed on the nearby chaise longue while he peeled the gown off her slender body, he’d assured himself.
So he’d allowed himself to be distracted by the lovely female as he sipped the potent fey wine, not realizing the danger until his head began to spin and the world went dark.
Idiot.
He should have known that they were plotting something.
He might have a fondness for the fey, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t well aware of their mercurial natures.
And their love for luring the unwary into their clever traps.
With a low growl he turned his head, easily spotting the female who was sprawled naked on the ground, her golden hair shimmering even in the darkness.
He wanted to know how the hell she’d managed to bring them to the caves beneath his private lair. And he wanted to know now.
Cyn moved to bend beside her slumbering form, pretending that he wasn’t acutely aware of the enticing temptation of her long, slender body and the fragile beauty of her pale face.
Sleeping Beauty . . .
A scowl marred his forehead. Aye. She was a beauty. She was also a powerful fey princess who’d managed to catch him off guard once.
It wasn’t going to happen again.
“Fallon?” Cyn murmured, his voice deep and laced with an accent that hadn’t been heard in this world for centuries. She heaved a sigh at the sound of his voice, but she remained stubbornly asleep. Cyn knelt at her side, knowing better than to touch her. The feel of that satin skin beneath his fingertips was guaranteed to make him forget he was pissed as hell at her little trick. “Fallon,” he growled, his voice a command. “Wake up.”
She gave a small jerk, her lashes fluttering upward to reveal the striking amber eyes with the shimmering flecks of emerald.
For a long moment she studied him in stunned confusion.
Understandable.
Most people found Cyn . . . intimidating.
At six foot three he had a powerful chest and thick muscles that marked him as a warrior. His thick mane of dark blond hair hung halfway down his back except for the front strands that he kept woven into tight braids that framed his face.
His features were chiseled along blunt lines with a square jaw and high cheekbones. His brow was wide and his jade green eyes heavily lashed. Females seemed to find him handsome enough, but there was never any mistake that he was a ruthless killer.
She sucked in a shaky breath as her gaze lowered to the barbaric Tuatha Dé Danann tattoos that curled and swirled in a narrow green pattern around his upper arms, emphasizing the perfect alabaster of his skin.
His lips twisted, wondering what she would think of the golden dragon tattoo with crimson wings that was currently hidden beneath the thick mane of his hair.
He’d earned the mark of CuChulainn that was branded onto his right shoulder blade after he’d survived the battles of Durotriges.
It marked him as a clan chief.
“Vampire,” she muttered, as if having difficulty remembering who he was.
He narrowed his gaze, wondering what game she was playing. “Cyn.”
“Yes . . . Cyn.” Her confusion was replaced with a horror as if she were suddenly remembering who he was. A horror that only intensified when she belatedly realized they were both butt-naked. “Dear goddess.” She shoved herself to a sitting position, curling her arms around her knees as she glared at him with angry accusation. “What have you done to me?”
“Me?” He made a sound of disbelief, unconsciously reaching to push a strand of golden hair off her flushed cheek.
“No . . .” With a flare of panic she was scrambling backward, a genuine fear flaring through the amber eyes. “Stay away.”
Cyn muttered a low curse. Her pretense of confusion was annoying the hell out of him, but he didn’t like the thought that she was afraid of him.
Strange when he’d devoted several centuries to terrifying his enemies.
“Settle down, princess,” he murmured softly.
“Settle down?” A flush stained her beautiful face. “I wake up naked in the company of a strange vampire far away from my home and you want me to settle down?” She bit her bottom lip, her flush deepening to crimson. “Did you—”
“What?”
“Violate me?”
What the hell? Cyn surged upright. Six foot three of quivering, offended, naked male.
“No, I didn’t damned well violate you,” he rasped. “And if I had, I can assure you that you would not only remember, but you’d be on your knees thanking me for the privilege.”
Her fear was replaced by a more familiar disdain. As if he was a bug that needed to be squashed beneath her royal heel.
“Why, you arrogant . . . leech.”
He folded his arms over his massive chest. “At least I’m not a stuck-up prig of a fairy.”
“If you didn’t violate me, why are we naked?” she demanded, careful to keep her gaze locked on his face. Was she afraid his bare body might strike her blind? “And how did we get here?”
He snorted. “That’s a question I should be asking you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m a vampire.”
Her lips thinned in annoyance, her chin tilted as she continued her ridiculous charade of innocence.
“Yes, I had managed to figure that out.”
“Then you know that I can’t create portals,” he snapped, deliberately allowing his gaze to skim downward. Unlike the aggravating female, he had no problem enjoying a naked body. Especially one so appetizing. “Only the fey can do that.”
She frowned, belatedly realizing she couldn’t try and pin the blame of their abrupt teleportation on him.
Odd, she hadn’t struck him as stupid.
Just the opposite, in fact.
“Fey aren’t the only creatures who can create portals.” She tried to hedge.
“Well, I obviously didn’t do it.”
“Neither did I.”
He made a sound of impatience. Why was she continuing with this game?
“You expect me to believe you?”
The flecks of emerald shimmered in her eyes. “My father has forbidden his people to leave our homeland.”
“Oh aye, and a daughter has never dared to disobey her father.”
She cast a condemning glance around the barren cave. “Trust me. If I did decide to defy my father, I wouldn’t choose to travel to this dump.”
His low growl filled the air. He was a true hedonist. A vampire who reveled in rare books, fine wine, and beautiful women.
And in turn, women adored him.
All women.
But this female . . .
She wasn’t the warm, willing, bundle of pleasure he was accustomed to. She was rude and prickly and downright dangerous.
“Watch your tongue, princess,” he snarled. “This dump happens to be a part of my private lair.”
“There.” She pointed an accusing finger toward him. “I knew it. You kidnapped me.”
Cyn rolled his eyes. Could this farce get any more ridiculous?
“The only one kidnapped was me.”
“Why would I kidnap an oversized, ego-bloated vampire?”
Yeah. Why would she? It took him a minute to shuffle through his still-fuzzy thoughts.
“To keep me from protecting my friend,” he at last concluded.
Hadn’t she pulled him out of the throne room, leaving Roke at the mercy of her father, Sariel? And then she’d plied him with some wicked fey brew that had knocked him unconscious.
Aye. It made perfect sense that it was a nefarious plot to separate him from his friend.
At least it did until she glared at him in outraged disbelief.
“Are you completely mental? Your friend was exactly where he wanted to be.”
Okay. She had a point.
Roke hadn’t looked like he needed Cyn’s services. In fact, the last he’d seen of his fellow vampire, he was wrapping his mate in his arms, his expression one of besotted devotion.
Bleck.
“Then perhaps you simply wanted to be alone with me.” He flashed a smile that revealed his snowy white fangs. One way or another he was getting answers. “You wouldn’t be the first female to use magic to get me into your bed.”
She muttered something distinctly unladylike beneath her breath.
“I am a fairy princess.”
“And?”
“And I don’t share my bed with—”
He planted his hands on his hips, his expression daring her to finish the sentence.
“With?”
Her lips parted to complete her insult, but before she could speak there was a sizzle of power in the air. Cyn turned toward the center of the cave, his muscles coiled to attack as there was a faint pop, and then a tiny demon dressed in a long white gown appeared out of thin air.
Cyn gave a startled hiss, his eyes widening at the creature who could easily pass as a young girl with her small stature and long silver braid that nearly brushed the floor. Cyn, however, wasn’t fooled. He recognized the strange oblong eyes that were a solid black and the sharp, pointed teeth.
This was no harmless juvenile.
She had enough power to crush him and his entire clan.
Even worse, she was an Oracle. One of the rare demons who sat on the Commission, the ultimate rulers of the demon world.
“Enough squabbling, children,” she chided, folding her hands together as she studied them with an unnerving intensity.
“Holy shite.” Cyn offered a belated bow. “Siljar.”
Fallon crouched on the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees in a futile effort at modesty.
“You know this person?”
“Not person,” Cyn corrected, shivering as Siljar’s energy sizzled over his skin. “Oracle.”
The amber eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Forgive me.” Siljar gave an absent wave of her hand and Cyn made a strangled sound of shock as he found himself covered by a plain white robe that hit him just below the knees. The Oracle gave another wave of her hand and Fallon was covered in a matching robe. “I haven’t created a portal into the fairy homeland for a number of centuries.”
Cyn scowled, ignoring Fallon’s I-told-you-so glare. “You brought us here?” he demanded.
Siljar gave a nod of her head. “I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I have need of you.”
His acute hearing picked up Fallon’s soft sigh of relief as she rose to her feet and brushed her hands down the satin robe.
“You need the vampire?”
“I have a name,” he reminded the princess with a snap.
Siljar clicked her tongue, her gaze shifting from Fallon to Cyn.
“I need both of you.”
Cyn stiffened. It was never, ever a good thing when an Oracle had need of him.
“Why?”
There was the unmistakable scent of sulfur as Siljar’s expression tightened with anger.
“I fear the Commission is being tampered with.”
Cyn arched a brow. Hadn’t Styx sent word that they’d uncovered the plot by the strange demons who’d been holding Fallon’s father captive?
“Aye, we know the Nebule planted a spy to pose as an Oracle,” he said.
Siljar shrugged. “He has been destroyed.”
Oh. Cyn grimaced. “You suspect there’s another traitor?”
“That was my first thought,” Siljar admitted. “But I believe that on this occasion the Oracles are being manipulated without their knowledge.”
That seemed . . . unlikely.
“Why are you suspicious?” he demanded.
Siljar hesitated a second before revealing what was troubling her.
“Over the past few weeks I’ve found myself awakening as if from a trance to discover I’m seated in the Council Room,” she at last said.
Cyn blinked in confusion. That was it? He’d been kidnapped and dropped naked in these caves because the old gal was becoming forgetful?
He forced himself to consider his words. Only an idiot implied that an Oracle might be going a bit batty.
“The past year has been stressful, especially for the Commission,” he murmured.
“It has. And if I was the only Oracle to experience the strange phenomenon, then I would assume that your implication that I’m suffering from some sort of mental decay was right.” Her lips twitched as he flinched at her blunt words. “I am, after all, quite old and it wouldn’t be entirely unlikely that I would accidentally transport myself to a familiar location without realizing what I’m doing.”
Cyn ignored Fallon’s barely hidden amusement at his discomfort.
“But?”
“More than once I discovered I wasn’t alone.”
Cyn grimaced even as he heard Fallon suck in a startled breath.
Having Siljar suffering from an occasional blackout was one thing. To think of the entire Commission being controlled by some unseen force . . . bloody hell.
“The other Oracles didn’t know how they got there either?” he rasped.
Siljar gave a somber shake of her head. “No.”
When Fallon had opened her eyes to discover herself far removed from her fairy homeland, she’d been more annoyed than frightened.
Strange, considering that it was the first time in her life she’d ever awakened in a dark cave, stark naked, and in the company of an equally naked vampire.
Hell, it was the first time she’d ever been away from her father’s vast palace.
She should have been freaking out.
Shouldn’t she?
But while she’d tried to convince herself that he must be some sort of deranged beast who’d stolen her from her home for God only knew what sort of perverted reason, she couldn’t truly make herself believe he was intending her harm.
She hadn’t spent much time with Cyn, but while the massive clan chief was obviously a terrifying predator, she’d easily sensed he posed no danger.
No, that wasn’t true, she wryly conceded.
He posed all sorts of danger, not the least of which was the unwelcomed excitement that sizzled through her whenever he happened to glance in her direction.
But she didn’t for a second believe he would physically hurt her.
Not unless he believed she was a threat to his people. The tiny demon in front of her, however, had just sent a chill of terror straight down her spine.
She knew of the Commission, of course.
Unlike most Chatri, the pure-blooded ancestors of the fey, Fallon had never been content with her secluded existence. Others might be happy in her father’s royal palace, surrounded by lush gardens and meadows that were drenched in perpetual sunshine, but for her it was all too . . . flawlessly monotonous.
There was only so much perfection a woman could endure before she became bored out of her mind. Which meant that Fallon had been driven to develop a secret life just to keep her sanity.
No one among her people knew that she’d created a hidden chamber where she honed her skill at scrying until she could not only peer into other dimensions, but she could maintain several images at once.
Over the years she’d spent endless hours studying this world, fascinated by the rapidly changing cultures while her own life remained stagnant. She’d even kept up on the current fads and speech patterns, telling herself that she might have the opportunity to visit this world, even when she’d known deep in her heart that her father would never allow her to leave their homeland.
Now she wondered if she’d been mistaken in her belief that the powerful Oracles were both wise and fair leaders for the demon world.
“What would be the point of trancing you?” she demanded in confusion.
Siljar regarded her with an unblinking gaze. It was . . . creepy.
“My guess would be that they want us in the Council Room,” she said.
Fallon forced herself not to wilt beneath that basilisk stare. “Why?”
“It’s the place we gather to share information, and to settle disputes between demons,” Siljar explained, abruptly pacing across the cave with jerky movements. As if she was trying to contain her emotions. “And in extreme cases it’s where we share our power.”
“Do you think it could be a demon who is trying to influence you to judge in his favor?” Cyn abruptly demanded.
“I asked myself the same question. We are currently negotiating a land treaty between the mountain ogres and the woodland sprites.” Siljar gave a sharp shake of her head. Swish. Swish. Her white robe brushed the uneven floor. “But now I fear the plot is far more nefarious.”
“Nefarious?” Cyn demanded.
Siljar nodded. “I think someone is trying to force the Commission to combine their powers to cast a spell.”
Cyn grimaced. “Who or what could have the necessary strength to influence the entire Commission?”
Siljar halted her pacing, regaining her composure to turn and meet the vampire’s troubled frown.
“That’s what I need you to discover.”
“You want me to spy on the Oracles?” Cyn rasped.
“Of course not,” Siljar chided. “I want Fallon to spy on them.”
Fallon’s mouth dropped open, her blood running cold. “Me?”
Siljar lifted a brow. “You are a master at scrying, are you not?”
Oh . . . damn.
“How did you—”
“I know many things, my dear,” Siljar smoothly interrupted.
Fallon shuffled beneath the dark, steady gaze. What else did the tiny demon know about her? Not that Fallon had an exciting enough life to hoard many secrets, but still . . .
Cyn sent her a searching glance, as if surprised that she might have an actual skill.
Jerk.
“What does a master of scrying mean?”
Siljar answered. “Fallon can keep track of the Oracles, even when they travel between dimensions.”
He didn’t look particularly impressed. “How will that help?”
“She can see if there is anyone in particular who has contact with all of the Oracles,” Siljar explained. “Or if there is someplace they travel where they could be manipulated.”
“How close does she have to be to scry?” Cyn demanded of the Oracle.
Fallon muttered a low curse. Had she suddenly become invisible?
“Distance doesn’t matter,” she informed the vampire, not about to be treated as if she couldn’t speak for herself. She’d had enough of that in her father’s court. “The only thing I need is a location to start.”
Without warning, Siljar was moving to stand directly in front of Fallon, her hand reaching to press against her cheek.
“There,” the demon said, searing the image of a vast complex of caves into Fallon’s mind. “You can track them?”
Fallon hissed in shock as the location locked in her mind and she realized just what was expected of her.
Crap. What was wrong with her? She should have told Siljar she couldn’t scry. That she’d made some sort of mistake.
Instead she’d practically boasted about her skill.
As if she was trying to impress . . .
No. She locked out the disturbing thought.
Cyn was an arrogant lug with an oversized ego. Okay, he was gorgeous. And sexy. And his hard, warrior body was lickably delicious. But she certainly wasn’t going to waste her time trying to impress him.
Siljar cleared her throat. “My dear, can you track them?” She repeated her question.
Fallon swallowed a sigh. It was too late to get out of her unwelcomed duty.
Besides, if her talent would help, then she surely had a duty to do whatever she could. “I think so,” she said.
“Good.” Cyn folded his arms over his chest. “Then she can return to fairyland?”
Fallon’s mouth dropped open at his blunt words. “Why, you rude—”
Siljar held up a hand. “No.”
Cyn’s jade green eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“Although it has been several weeks since you left Fallon’s homeland—”
“Several weeks?” Fallon forgot her annoyance with Cyn as she sucked in a shocked breath. How was that possible? It felt as if it’d only been a matter of minutes since she was standing in the small reception room in her father’s palace.
Siljar gave a lift of her hands. “Traveling through dimensions can often create temporal fluctuations.”
She was lying. Oh, it was true that traveling through dimensions could screw with time, but Fallon suspected that the cunning Oracle had deliberately altered time for her own purpose.
With a low growl Cyn clenched his hands in frustration, clearly more pissed than suspicious.
“What’s the date?” he demanded.
“The middle of January.”
The vampire’s icy powers pulsed through the air, making Fallon shiver.
“Shit,” he rasped.
Siljar calmly smoothed her hands down her robe, pretending there wasn’t a massive vampire filling the cave with enough power to make it collapse on their heads.
“As I was saying, I brought you here so Fallon could concentrate on her task without the interference of her father and her fiancé who are both searching for her.”
Fallon widened her eyes. It made sense that her father would come in search of her. But her fiancé?
The prince barely remembered she was alive most of the time.
“Magnus is here?”
“Fiancé?” Cyn muttered, sending Fallon an oddly angry glare before turning his attention to Siljar. “You can’t expect me to be her babysitter.”
“I request that you give her your protection.” Siljar spoke before Fallon could call him a jackass. “Which will be considerably easier if you remain behind the potent magic that hides your lair from prying eyes.”
“And what about my people?” he snarled. “I’ve already been gone too long. They need their chief.”
Siljar waved away his concern. “You surely have a trusted servant who can keep your presence here a secret and yet allow you to ensure the welfare of your clan?”
The chill in the air became downright frigid. “There are others more suited to taking care of a fairy.”
Fallon met him glare for glare. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Siljar reached into the pocket of her robe, pulling out a small scroll.
“But they would not be more suited to deciphering this.”
It wouldn’t come as a shock to anyone that Styx was the Anasso, King of Vampires.
At six foot five with dark eyes, and the fierce Aztec features of his ancestors, he was the poster child for BADASS. Dressed in leather pants and white silk shirt that emphasized his massive chest, he had his long raven hair braided and decorated with tiny turquoise amulets. There was another amulet around his neck, this one a traditional medallion that held the power of his people. His size thirteen feet were shoved into a pair of shit-kickers that looked decidedly out of place in the elegant library.
Of course, there was no place in the sprawling mansion north of Chicago that he didn’t stand out like a sore thumb. His home was filled with marble columns and painted ceilings and an explosion of gilt. And the furnishings weren’t Louis XIV rip-offs. The furniture had actually come from the king’s palace. Which meant they were so delicate, a poor vampire was constantly terrified it would crack beneath his weight.
Unfortunately his mate, Darcy, insisted that he needed a lair that would impress the demon world. And if it made Darcy happy, then that was all that mattered.
The vampire walking through the door, however, was the exact opposite of Styx.
Not to say that Viper wasn’t equally lethal. He hadn’t earned a position as the Chicago clan chief because his eyes were as dark and beguiling as a velvet night sky. Or because his features were as beautiful as a fallen angel. Or because his long, silver hair shimmered like the finest satin.
He was one of the most ruthless killers to stalk the streets of Chicago.
But while Styx looked like death walking, Viper resembled an eighteenth-century dandy dressed in a dark velvet jacket that reached his knees and a ruffled pink shirt.
Crossing the priceless Parisian carpet, Viper headed directly to the side of the room, pouring himself a brandy before turning to face Styx who was leaning against the heavy desk.
“This had better be important,” Viper growled, tossing the brandy down his throat.
Styx arched a raven brow as Viper set the empty glass on a low, walnut table.
“Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed?”
Viper nailed him with an exasperated glare. “I hadn’t left my bed, Your Majesty. I was enjoying a rare evening alone with my mate.”
Ah. That would explain the pissy mood.
Styx shrugged. “A pity.”
Viper rolled his eyes. “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”
“I would be more sympathetic if my own mate wasn’t back in St. Louis,” Styx muttered.
Darcy’s sister had recently given birth to a litter of pureblood Weres and Styx had discovered himself living the life of a bachelor as the females fussed and cooed over the babies.
He tried to be patient, but it wasn’t his greatest talent.
Oh hell, who was he kidding? It was at the bottom of the list of his talents.
Viper grimaced. “I’ve discovered that no mere male can compete with the allure of newborn babes. Even Shay insists on traveling to see them when there isn’t a waiting line outside Salvatore’s lair.”
“Yes.” Styx’s annoyance with Darcy’s absence eased at the thought of Salvatore, the King of Weres, being tormented by endless guests forcing their way into his lair. The arrogant hound was at the edge of snapping. “Poor bastard.”
Viper abruptly chuckled. “Once again I detect a distinct lack of genuine sympathy.”
“True.” Styx smiled. Truce or not, it gave him genuine pleasure to think of the arrogant bastard ripping out his hair. “The dog deserves the aggravation. . .
Cyn, clan chief of Ireland and former berserker, moaned as he slowly regained consciousness. His brain was fuzzy, which meant it took a full minute to realize he was lying butt-naked on the cold stone floor of a cave.
Bloody hell. It had been a millennium since he’d woken in this precise cave, naked and disoriented. He didn’t like it any better today than he had a thousand years ago.
What’d happened?
With a groan he forced himself to a sitting position, his body hardening at the intoxicating scent that teased at his nose.
Champagne?
A fine, crisp vintage that made his entire body tingle with anticipation.
For a blissful minute he allowed the fragrance to swirl around him. It was oddly familiar. And, surprisingly, it stirred a complex mixture of emotions.
Arousal. Wariness. Frustration
It was the frustration that abruptly forced him to recall why the scent was so familiar.
Muttering a curse, Cyn had a searing memory of following a beautiful fairy through a portal. No . . . not a fairy, he wryly corrected himself. A Chatri. The ancient purebloods of the fey world who’d retreated to their homeland centuries before.
He’d been there to help Roke locate his mate, but Princess Fallon had shoved him out of the throne room when it was obvious that Roke and Sally needed time to work out their differences, insisting that he leave them in peace.
He’d only been vaguely annoyed at first. He didn’t trust the cunning Chatri as far as he could throw them, especially not their king, Sariel. But he wanted Roke to work out his troubles with his mate.
Besides, he was male enough to appreciate being in the company of a beautiful woman.
Or in the case of Fallon . . . a breathtakingly exquisite woman.
Her hair was a glorious tumble of rich gold brushed with hints of pale rose. The sort of hair that begged a man to bury his face in the silken mass. Her eyes were polished amber with flecks of emerald and framed by the thickest, longest lashes Cyn had ever seen. And her ivory features . . . gods almighty, they were so perfect they didn’t look real.
He might be suspicious of Fallon, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy fantasizing about having her tossed on the nearby chaise longue while he peeled the gown off her slender body, he’d assured himself.
So he’d allowed himself to be distracted by the lovely female as he sipped the potent fey wine, not realizing the danger until his head began to spin and the world went dark.
Idiot.
He should have known that they were plotting something.
He might have a fondness for the fey, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t well aware of their mercurial natures.
And their love for luring the unwary into their clever traps.
With a low growl he turned his head, easily spotting the female who was sprawled naked on the ground, her golden hair shimmering even in the darkness.
He wanted to know how the hell she’d managed to bring them to the caves beneath his private lair. And he wanted to know now.
Cyn moved to bend beside her slumbering form, pretending that he wasn’t acutely aware of the enticing temptation of her long, slender body and the fragile beauty of her pale face.
Sleeping Beauty . . .
A scowl marred his forehead. Aye. She was a beauty. She was also a powerful fey princess who’d managed to catch him off guard once.
It wasn’t going to happen again.
“Fallon?” Cyn murmured, his voice deep and laced with an accent that hadn’t been heard in this world for centuries. She heaved a sigh at the sound of his voice, but she remained stubbornly asleep. Cyn knelt at her side, knowing better than to touch her. The feel of that satin skin beneath his fingertips was guaranteed to make him forget he was pissed as hell at her little trick. “Fallon,” he growled, his voice a command. “Wake up.”
She gave a small jerk, her lashes fluttering upward to reveal the striking amber eyes with the shimmering flecks of emerald.
For a long moment she studied him in stunned confusion.
Understandable.
Most people found Cyn . . . intimidating.
At six foot three he had a powerful chest and thick muscles that marked him as a warrior. His thick mane of dark blond hair hung halfway down his back except for the front strands that he kept woven into tight braids that framed his face.
His features were chiseled along blunt lines with a square jaw and high cheekbones. His brow was wide and his jade green eyes heavily lashed. Females seemed to find him handsome enough, but there was never any mistake that he was a ruthless killer.
She sucked in a shaky breath as her gaze lowered to the barbaric Tuatha Dé Danann tattoos that curled and swirled in a narrow green pattern around his upper arms, emphasizing the perfect alabaster of his skin.
His lips twisted, wondering what she would think of the golden dragon tattoo with crimson wings that was currently hidden beneath the thick mane of his hair.
He’d earned the mark of CuChulainn that was branded onto his right shoulder blade after he’d survived the battles of Durotriges.
It marked him as a clan chief.
“Vampire,” she muttered, as if having difficulty remembering who he was.
He narrowed his gaze, wondering what game she was playing. “Cyn.”
“Yes . . . Cyn.” Her confusion was replaced with a horror as if she were suddenly remembering who he was. A horror that only intensified when she belatedly realized they were both butt-naked. “Dear goddess.” She shoved herself to a sitting position, curling her arms around her knees as she glared at him with angry accusation. “What have you done to me?”
“Me?” He made a sound of disbelief, unconsciously reaching to push a strand of golden hair off her flushed cheek.
“No . . .” With a flare of panic she was scrambling backward, a genuine fear flaring through the amber eyes. “Stay away.”
Cyn muttered a low curse. Her pretense of confusion was annoying the hell out of him, but he didn’t like the thought that she was afraid of him.
Strange when he’d devoted several centuries to terrifying his enemies.
“Settle down, princess,” he murmured softly.
“Settle down?” A flush stained her beautiful face. “I wake up naked in the company of a strange vampire far away from my home and you want me to settle down?” She bit her bottom lip, her flush deepening to crimson. “Did you—”
“What?”
“Violate me?”
What the hell? Cyn surged upright. Six foot three of quivering, offended, naked male.
“No, I didn’t damned well violate you,” he rasped. “And if I had, I can assure you that you would not only remember, but you’d be on your knees thanking me for the privilege.”
Her fear was replaced by a more familiar disdain. As if he was a bug that needed to be squashed beneath her royal heel.
“Why, you arrogant . . . leech.”
He folded his arms over his massive chest. “At least I’m not a stuck-up prig of a fairy.”
“If you didn’t violate me, why are we naked?” she demanded, careful to keep her gaze locked on his face. Was she afraid his bare body might strike her blind? “And how did we get here?”
He snorted. “That’s a question I should be asking you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m a vampire.”
Her lips thinned in annoyance, her chin tilted as she continued her ridiculous charade of innocence.
“Yes, I had managed to figure that out.”
“Then you know that I can’t create portals,” he snapped, deliberately allowing his gaze to skim downward. Unlike the aggravating female, he had no problem enjoying a naked body. Especially one so appetizing. “Only the fey can do that.”
She frowned, belatedly realizing she couldn’t try and pin the blame of their abrupt teleportation on him.
Odd, she hadn’t struck him as stupid.
Just the opposite, in fact.
“Fey aren’t the only creatures who can create portals.” She tried to hedge.
“Well, I obviously didn’t do it.”
“Neither did I.”
He made a sound of impatience. Why was she continuing with this game?
“You expect me to believe you?”
The flecks of emerald shimmered in her eyes. “My father has forbidden his people to leave our homeland.”
“Oh aye, and a daughter has never dared to disobey her father.”
She cast a condemning glance around the barren cave. “Trust me. If I did decide to defy my father, I wouldn’t choose to travel to this dump.”
His low growl filled the air. He was a true hedonist. A vampire who reveled in rare books, fine wine, and beautiful women.
And in turn, women adored him.
All women.
But this female . . .
She wasn’t the warm, willing, bundle of pleasure he was accustomed to. She was rude and prickly and downright dangerous.
“Watch your tongue, princess,” he snarled. “This dump happens to be a part of my private lair.”
“There.” She pointed an accusing finger toward him. “I knew it. You kidnapped me.”
Cyn rolled his eyes. Could this farce get any more ridiculous?
“The only one kidnapped was me.”
“Why would I kidnap an oversized, ego-bloated vampire?”
Yeah. Why would she? It took him a minute to shuffle through his still-fuzzy thoughts.
“To keep me from protecting my friend,” he at last concluded.
Hadn’t she pulled him out of the throne room, leaving Roke at the mercy of her father, Sariel? And then she’d plied him with some wicked fey brew that had knocked him unconscious.
Aye. It made perfect sense that it was a nefarious plot to separate him from his friend.
At least it did until she glared at him in outraged disbelief.
“Are you completely mental? Your friend was exactly where he wanted to be.”
Okay. She had a point.
Roke hadn’t looked like he needed Cyn’s services. In fact, the last he’d seen of his fellow vampire, he was wrapping his mate in his arms, his expression one of besotted devotion.
Bleck.
“Then perhaps you simply wanted to be alone with me.” He flashed a smile that revealed his snowy white fangs. One way or another he was getting answers. “You wouldn’t be the first female to use magic to get me into your bed.”
She muttered something distinctly unladylike beneath her breath.
“I am a fairy princess.”
“And?”
“And I don’t share my bed with—”
He planted his hands on his hips, his expression daring her to finish the sentence.
“With?”
Her lips parted to complete her insult, but before she could speak there was a sizzle of power in the air. Cyn turned toward the center of the cave, his muscles coiled to attack as there was a faint pop, and then a tiny demon dressed in a long white gown appeared out of thin air.
Cyn gave a startled hiss, his eyes widening at the creature who could easily pass as a young girl with her small stature and long silver braid that nearly brushed the floor. Cyn, however, wasn’t fooled. He recognized the strange oblong eyes that were a solid black and the sharp, pointed teeth.
This was no harmless juvenile.
She had enough power to crush him and his entire clan.
Even worse, she was an Oracle. One of the rare demons who sat on the Commission, the ultimate rulers of the demon world.
“Enough squabbling, children,” she chided, folding her hands together as she studied them with an unnerving intensity.
“Holy shite.” Cyn offered a belated bow. “Siljar.”
Fallon crouched on the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees in a futile effort at modesty.
“You know this person?”
“Not person,” Cyn corrected, shivering as Siljar’s energy sizzled over his skin. “Oracle.”
The amber eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Forgive me.” Siljar gave an absent wave of her hand and Cyn made a strangled sound of shock as he found himself covered by a plain white robe that hit him just below the knees. The Oracle gave another wave of her hand and Fallon was covered in a matching robe. “I haven’t created a portal into the fairy homeland for a number of centuries.”
Cyn scowled, ignoring Fallon’s I-told-you-so glare. “You brought us here?” he demanded.
Siljar gave a nod of her head. “I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I have need of you.”
His acute hearing picked up Fallon’s soft sigh of relief as she rose to her feet and brushed her hands down the satin robe.
“You need the vampire?”
“I have a name,” he reminded the princess with a snap.
Siljar clicked her tongue, her gaze shifting from Fallon to Cyn.
“I need both of you.”
Cyn stiffened. It was never, ever a good thing when an Oracle had need of him.
“Why?”
There was the unmistakable scent of sulfur as Siljar’s expression tightened with anger.
“I fear the Commission is being tampered with.”
Cyn arched a brow. Hadn’t Styx sent word that they’d uncovered the plot by the strange demons who’d been holding Fallon’s father captive?
“Aye, we know the Nebule planted a spy to pose as an Oracle,” he said.
Siljar shrugged. “He has been destroyed.”
Oh. Cyn grimaced. “You suspect there’s another traitor?”
“That was my first thought,” Siljar admitted. “But I believe that on this occasion the Oracles are being manipulated without their knowledge.”
That seemed . . . unlikely.
“Why are you suspicious?” he demanded.
Siljar hesitated a second before revealing what was troubling her.
“Over the past few weeks I’ve found myself awakening as if from a trance to discover I’m seated in the Council Room,” she at last said.
Cyn blinked in confusion. That was it? He’d been kidnapped and dropped naked in these caves because the old gal was becoming forgetful?
He forced himself to consider his words. Only an idiot implied that an Oracle might be going a bit batty.
“The past year has been stressful, especially for the Commission,” he murmured.
“It has. And if I was the only Oracle to experience the strange phenomenon, then I would assume that your implication that I’m suffering from some sort of mental decay was right.” Her lips twitched as he flinched at her blunt words. “I am, after all, quite old and it wouldn’t be entirely unlikely that I would accidentally transport myself to a familiar location without realizing what I’m doing.”
Cyn ignored Fallon’s barely hidden amusement at his discomfort.
“But?”
“More than once I discovered I wasn’t alone.”
Cyn grimaced even as he heard Fallon suck in a startled breath.
Having Siljar suffering from an occasional blackout was one thing. To think of the entire Commission being controlled by some unseen force . . . bloody hell.
“The other Oracles didn’t know how they got there either?” he rasped.
Siljar gave a somber shake of her head. “No.”
When Fallon had opened her eyes to discover herself far removed from her fairy homeland, she’d been more annoyed than frightened.
Strange, considering that it was the first time in her life she’d ever awakened in a dark cave, stark naked, and in the company of an equally naked vampire.
Hell, it was the first time she’d ever been away from her father’s vast palace.
She should have been freaking out.
Shouldn’t she?
But while she’d tried to convince herself that he must be some sort of deranged beast who’d stolen her from her home for God only knew what sort of perverted reason, she couldn’t truly make herself believe he was intending her harm.
She hadn’t spent much time with Cyn, but while the massive clan chief was obviously a terrifying predator, she’d easily sensed he posed no danger.
No, that wasn’t true, she wryly conceded.
He posed all sorts of danger, not the least of which was the unwelcomed excitement that sizzled through her whenever he happened to glance in her direction.
But she didn’t for a second believe he would physically hurt her.
Not unless he believed she was a threat to his people. The tiny demon in front of her, however, had just sent a chill of terror straight down her spine.
She knew of the Commission, of course.
Unlike most Chatri, the pure-blooded ancestors of the fey, Fallon had never been content with her secluded existence. Others might be happy in her father’s royal palace, surrounded by lush gardens and meadows that were drenched in perpetual sunshine, but for her it was all too . . . flawlessly monotonous.
There was only so much perfection a woman could endure before she became bored out of her mind. Which meant that Fallon had been driven to develop a secret life just to keep her sanity.
No one among her people knew that she’d created a hidden chamber where she honed her skill at scrying until she could not only peer into other dimensions, but she could maintain several images at once.
Over the years she’d spent endless hours studying this world, fascinated by the rapidly changing cultures while her own life remained stagnant. She’d even kept up on the current fads and speech patterns, telling herself that she might have the opportunity to visit this world, even when she’d known deep in her heart that her father would never allow her to leave their homeland.
Now she wondered if she’d been mistaken in her belief that the powerful Oracles were both wise and fair leaders for the demon world.
“What would be the point of trancing you?” she demanded in confusion.
Siljar regarded her with an unblinking gaze. It was . . . creepy.
“My guess would be that they want us in the Council Room,” she said.
Fallon forced herself not to wilt beneath that basilisk stare. “Why?”
“It’s the place we gather to share information, and to settle disputes between demons,” Siljar explained, abruptly pacing across the cave with jerky movements. As if she was trying to contain her emotions. “And in extreme cases it’s where we share our power.”
“Do you think it could be a demon who is trying to influence you to judge in his favor?” Cyn abruptly demanded.
“I asked myself the same question. We are currently negotiating a land treaty between the mountain ogres and the woodland sprites.” Siljar gave a sharp shake of her head. Swish. Swish. Her white robe brushed the uneven floor. “But now I fear the plot is far more nefarious.”
“Nefarious?” Cyn demanded.
Siljar nodded. “I think someone is trying to force the Commission to combine their powers to cast a spell.”
Cyn grimaced. “Who or what could have the necessary strength to influence the entire Commission?”
Siljar halted her pacing, regaining her composure to turn and meet the vampire’s troubled frown.
“That’s what I need you to discover.”
“You want me to spy on the Oracles?” Cyn rasped.
“Of course not,” Siljar chided. “I want Fallon to spy on them.”
Fallon’s mouth dropped open, her blood running cold. “Me?”
Siljar lifted a brow. “You are a master at scrying, are you not?”
Oh . . . damn.
“How did you—”
“I know many things, my dear,” Siljar smoothly interrupted.
Fallon shuffled beneath the dark, steady gaze. What else did the tiny demon know about her? Not that Fallon had an exciting enough life to hoard many secrets, but still . . .
Cyn sent her a searching glance, as if surprised that she might have an actual skill.
Jerk.
“What does a master of scrying mean?”
Siljar answered. “Fallon can keep track of the Oracles, even when they travel between dimensions.”
He didn’t look particularly impressed. “How will that help?”
“She can see if there is anyone in particular who has contact with all of the Oracles,” Siljar explained. “Or if there is someplace they travel where they could be manipulated.”
“How close does she have to be to scry?” Cyn demanded of the Oracle.
Fallon muttered a low curse. Had she suddenly become invisible?
“Distance doesn’t matter,” she informed the vampire, not about to be treated as if she couldn’t speak for herself. She’d had enough of that in her father’s court. “The only thing I need is a location to start.”
Without warning, Siljar was moving to stand directly in front of Fallon, her hand reaching to press against her cheek.
“There,” the demon said, searing the image of a vast complex of caves into Fallon’s mind. “You can track them?”
Fallon hissed in shock as the location locked in her mind and she realized just what was expected of her.
Crap. What was wrong with her? She should have told Siljar she couldn’t scry. That she’d made some sort of mistake.
Instead she’d practically boasted about her skill.
As if she was trying to impress . . .
No. She locked out the disturbing thought.
Cyn was an arrogant lug with an oversized ego. Okay, he was gorgeous. And sexy. And his hard, warrior body was lickably delicious. But she certainly wasn’t going to waste her time trying to impress him.
Siljar cleared her throat. “My dear, can you track them?” She repeated her question.
Fallon swallowed a sigh. It was too late to get out of her unwelcomed duty.
Besides, if her talent would help, then she surely had a duty to do whatever she could. “I think so,” she said.
“Good.” Cyn folded his arms over his chest. “Then she can return to fairyland?”
Fallon’s mouth dropped open at his blunt words. “Why, you rude—”
Siljar held up a hand. “No.”
Cyn’s jade green eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“Although it has been several weeks since you left Fallon’s homeland—”
“Several weeks?” Fallon forgot her annoyance with Cyn as she sucked in a shocked breath. How was that possible? It felt as if it’d only been a matter of minutes since she was standing in the small reception room in her father’s palace.
Siljar gave a lift of her hands. “Traveling through dimensions can often create temporal fluctuations.”
She was lying. Oh, it was true that traveling through dimensions could screw with time, but Fallon suspected that the cunning Oracle had deliberately altered time for her own purpose.
With a low growl Cyn clenched his hands in frustration, clearly more pissed than suspicious.
“What’s the date?” he demanded.
“The middle of January.”
The vampire’s icy powers pulsed through the air, making Fallon shiver.
“Shit,” he rasped.
Siljar calmly smoothed her hands down her robe, pretending there wasn’t a massive vampire filling the cave with enough power to make it collapse on their heads.
“As I was saying, I brought you here so Fallon could concentrate on her task without the interference of her father and her fiancé who are both searching for her.”
Fallon widened her eyes. It made sense that her father would come in search of her. But her fiancé?
The prince barely remembered she was alive most of the time.
“Magnus is here?”
“Fiancé?” Cyn muttered, sending Fallon an oddly angry glare before turning his attention to Siljar. “You can’t expect me to be her babysitter.”
“I request that you give her your protection.” Siljar spoke before Fallon could call him a jackass. “Which will be considerably easier if you remain behind the potent magic that hides your lair from prying eyes.”
“And what about my people?” he snarled. “I’ve already been gone too long. They need their chief.”
Siljar waved away his concern. “You surely have a trusted servant who can keep your presence here a secret and yet allow you to ensure the welfare of your clan?”
The chill in the air became downright frigid. “There are others more suited to taking care of a fairy.”
Fallon met him glare for glare. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Siljar reached into the pocket of her robe, pulling out a small scroll.
“But they would not be more suited to deciphering this.”
It wouldn’t come as a shock to anyone that Styx was the Anasso, King of Vampires.
At six foot five with dark eyes, and the fierce Aztec features of his ancestors, he was the poster child for BADASS. Dressed in leather pants and white silk shirt that emphasized his massive chest, he had his long raven hair braided and decorated with tiny turquoise amulets. There was another amulet around his neck, this one a traditional medallion that held the power of his people. His size thirteen feet were shoved into a pair of shit-kickers that looked decidedly out of place in the elegant library.
Of course, there was no place in the sprawling mansion north of Chicago that he didn’t stand out like a sore thumb. His home was filled with marble columns and painted ceilings and an explosion of gilt. And the furnishings weren’t Louis XIV rip-offs. The furniture had actually come from the king’s palace. Which meant they were so delicate, a poor vampire was constantly terrified it would crack beneath his weight.
Unfortunately his mate, Darcy, insisted that he needed a lair that would impress the demon world. And if it made Darcy happy, then that was all that mattered.
The vampire walking through the door, however, was the exact opposite of Styx.
Not to say that Viper wasn’t equally lethal. He hadn’t earned a position as the Chicago clan chief because his eyes were as dark and beguiling as a velvet night sky. Or because his features were as beautiful as a fallen angel. Or because his long, silver hair shimmered like the finest satin.
He was one of the most ruthless killers to stalk the streets of Chicago.
But while Styx looked like death walking, Viper resembled an eighteenth-century dandy dressed in a dark velvet jacket that reached his knees and a ruffled pink shirt.
Crossing the priceless Parisian carpet, Viper headed directly to the side of the room, pouring himself a brandy before turning to face Styx who was leaning against the heavy desk.
“This had better be important,” Viper growled, tossing the brandy down his throat.
Styx arched a raven brow as Viper set the empty glass on a low, walnut table.
“Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed?”
Viper nailed him with an exasperated glare. “I hadn’t left my bed, Your Majesty. I was enjoying a rare evening alone with my mate.”
Ah. That would explain the pissy mood.
Styx shrugged. “A pity.”
Viper rolled his eyes. “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”
“I would be more sympathetic if my own mate wasn’t back in St. Louis,” Styx muttered.
Darcy’s sister had recently given birth to a litter of pureblood Weres and Styx had discovered himself living the life of a bachelor as the females fussed and cooed over the babies.
He tried to be patient, but it wasn’t his greatest talent.
Oh hell, who was he kidding? It was at the bottom of the list of his talents.
Viper grimaced. “I’ve discovered that no mere male can compete with the allure of newborn babes. Even Shay insists on traveling to see them when there isn’t a waiting line outside Salvatore’s lair.”
“Yes.” Styx’s annoyance with Darcy’s absence eased at the thought of Salvatore, the King of Weres, being tormented by endless guests forcing their way into his lair. The arrogant hound was at the edge of snapping. “Poor bastard.”
Viper abruptly chuckled. “Once again I detect a distinct lack of genuine sympathy.”
“True.” Styx smiled. Truce or not, it gave him genuine pleasure to think of the arrogant bastard ripping out his hair. “The dog deserves the aggravation. . .
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